The Keeping Place (Book Six in the Witch Hunter Saga)

by Nicole R. Taylor

  “Did you find out anything from your contact, then?” he asked, nodding at the pile of grimoires.

  “I did want to discuss something with you,” Gabby began, rising to her feet and taking the chair opposite his.

  He grunted and leaned back, rubbing his temples. Great, another question and answer session. Isobel was lucky he loved her. He’d bend over backward and suffer an eternity of excruciating pain for that woman, but Gabby… Well, he could take it or leave it.

  “So…” she began uneasily. “I had a vision the other night.”

  His gaze flickered to hers with interest. “What vision?”

  “When I stayed behind at the stone circle,” she began. “The spirits showed me you and Eleanor…”

  Nye narrowed his eyes, pretty damn sure where this was going already. “Go on…”

  She eyed him uneasily. “When you cut off her head.”

  Shit. He’d recalled that day more times than he wanted to in recent weeks and having Gabby witness it firsthand? He was ashamed that she’d seen him at his most vulnerable. In love with a witch who was turned against him, who he then had to kill in order to save his own wretched life. That meant Gabby and seen the moment Regulus had shown up and claimed his servitude.

  Regulus. Her dearly departed love.

  “Why are you bringing this up?” he asked stonily, too exhausted to care for the witch’s feelings.

  “The spirits never meddle unless they have something worth saying.” Her fingers tightened around the arm of the chair, making the leather creak. She was…embarrassed?

  “So why are you hesitating? Just tell me what you saw.”

  “I was in the memory…as Eleanor.”

  “You were…” He suddenly began to realize why she was a little flushed. That day, Eleanor had…

  Gabby nodded.

  “You kissed me as Eleanor?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I was totally grossed out, by the way, so don’t go thinking I’m going to try to dry hump your leg or anything.”

  “Good,” he said, an amused smile playing at his lips. “Isobel would tear you apart.”

  “Cocky son of a—”

  “Calm your farm,” he interrupted. “You brought up my most embarrassing moment for a reason. Why did your spooky mates show it to you? So you could torture me with it? Is this their version of a ghostly beyond the grave prank?”

  Gabby smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “No, I think it has something to do with the Unhallowed’s end game.”

  “My four-hundred-year-old embarrassing moment has something to do with their resurrection plot? Do tell.”

  “Damned if I know, but the spirits never come out and say exactly what they mean. I think they want to, but they can’t, so they’re limited to visions and riddles.”

  “More like they won’t,” Nye muttered. “There’s another mystery for you, Gabby. Who controls the spirits?”

  “That’s deep,” she retorted.

  “So what was it about that day…” he mused, thinking over the proceedings. The way he was lead into the forest like a lamb to the slaughter, the rune Eleanor was carving into his forehead, the spell she was in the midst of casting when he sliced off her head… Or was it something unseen?

  “If I can attempt to scry the rune on your chest, maybe I can find a clue,” she was saying. “I could only see through Eleanor’s eyes. I wasn’t privy to her thoughts. And the rune she was carving back then was incomplete.”

  “But it’s gone,” he said, snapping to attention. “It healed days ago.”

  “Traces might still linger. It’s worth a shot either way.”

  “So I gather that means your battery is charged now?”

  She shrugged.

  He scowled in return, rubbing at the tingling sensation that had risen in his flesh at the mention of the rune.

  “Do you mind?” Gabby asked, gesturing to him.

  “Do you want me to do a striptease for you?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Don’t be a smartass. I want to check you for any residual magic. If I can get a sense for Eleanor’s rune, I might be able to decipher the intent.”

  “We already know her intent,” he all but spat. “I felt the power flowing through me. I heard the voices.”

  “You heard the voices?” Gabby parroted, straightening up in interest. “You mean, you heard the spirits?”

  “What spirits?” he asked sullenly.

  “The ley lines are a direct conduit to the earth’s energy,” she explained. “I can access them through the spirit realm, though I can’t tap into their energy. I can only watch and listen. When I communed with them that night, I was guided by the ancestor spirits.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “They spoke to you?”

  He ignored her question and asked, “Whose ancestors?”

  “Everyone’s,” she said pointedly. “Though only the witches speak to me because we have a common interest in the living. What did you hear?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It could matter a great deal.”

  Nye scowled and stared off into space, mulling over the night of the ritual. The moment the power of the ley lines had flowed through him, his mind had been filled with nothing short of chaos. His body wasn’t designed to hold any kind of magic other than what already kept him alive, so through the pain, he hadn’t heard much of anything other than an unrelenting hum of drowned voices. Until then, he’d thought it was a product of his own insanity.

  “I can’t remember anything,” he muttered.

  Gabby sighed in mild annoyance. “Okay, but at least let me examine your chest.”

  Knowing he wouldn’t escape her constant questioning, he stood and unbuttoned his shirt. Lying on the floor, the witch knelt beside him and placed her palms over his sternum.

  “So how were my skills?” he asked with a smirk. “I’ve had time to practice since then, but one never forgets the fundamentals.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gabby asked, cocking her head to the side.

  He made a kissy face at her and laughed as her cheeks turned scarlet.

  “Shut up,” she hissed. “I need to concentrate.”

  Allowing her to settle, he didn’t move as her fingers probed his chest, rising and falling with the hard ridges of his muscles. Her skin heated as her power flowed into him, the energy tickling his nerve endings as she scried his flesh for clues.

  Abruptly, the study door burst open, and they both glanced up at the sudden intrusion. Isobel stood over them, a deep-set scowl on her face. Nye knew what he and Gabby must look like, but it couldn’t be any further from the truth. Though if looks could kill, then the witch was a dead woman.

  “Hello, darling.” He smiled at Isobel, throwing in a wink for good measure.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tight.

  Gabby flushed and pulled her hands away from his chest. “It’s not what it looks like,” she said hastily. “I’m scrying.”

  “Scrying?” Isobel’s gaze shifted from him to the witch and back again.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t speak witch.”

  “I’m looking for any residual marks the rune may have left behind,” Gabby explained. “Just to be sure.”

  “And?”

  Nye raised an eyebrow, his expression asking the same question.

  Gabby frowned and rubbed her eyes. “I’m not sure yet. I need to think about it.”

  “As long as I don’t sprout a second head,” Nye declared, sitting up. “This one is big enough.”

  Isobel stormed from the room, clearly upset over nothing at all, and he rose to his feet, following her out into the hall.

  Grasping her hand, he tugged her back into his arms. “Jealousy becomes you,” he murmured, stroking her flushed cheeks. “I like it.”

  She moaned softly. “What have you done to me, Nye?”

  “What have I done to you?” he asked in surprise. “Dear Isobel. What have you done t
o me?”

  Chapter 4

  Gabby watched as Nye followed Izzy out of the study.

  Knowing exactly how tumultuous a relationship with a vampire could be, she cut her friend some slack. Never being able to feel as deeply as Nye would cause doubt to flourish where there needn’t be any.

  Sighing, she turned back to her grimoire and settled on the floor again. Picking up her pen, she flipped through the pages and worried over the absolute lack of information scrying Nye’s chest had given her. The rune still lingered as she’d suspected, but it was faint, tendrils of power evaporating as soon as she touched it. Much like the curse markers she sensed in Isobel, the ritual had left its remnants in the spy.

  Whatever rune Eleanor carved back then had everything to do with the one she’d placed on Nye for the ritual. Up until now, Gabby had believed the wraith was just using his ability to heal so they could siphon the ley lines at will. But what if was something else?

  The day Nye took Eleanor’s human life, he’d already been marked by the Unhallowed. What if all of this wasn’t revenge? What if they were trapped into finishing what they’d started?

  All of this was in aid of resurrecting the dead coven, and in order to achieve it, they needed whatever was locked inside the Keeping Place. Gabby couldn’t make any sense out of it. Necromancy was dark magic and forbidden. It was a long-forgotten art, much like the existence of wraiths had been. If she understood it… No, that was a far too dangerous path to walk considering the dark power lingering in her veins. She’d been able to control it when she’d overwhelmed Eleanor and her wraiths, but that was a total fluke.

  The map that had led them to the standing stones had called the stones the Keeping Place, but she’d learned that it wasn’t there at all. Was the ritual to create some kind of key? Was Nye the missing link?

  If Nye was the key and Eleanor was the bearer… Damn, how her head hurt!

  “Gabby!”

  She shot to her feet at the sound of Nye’s panicked voice, her grimoire falling to the floor with a thud, and burst out of the study. Barreling into the hallway, her heart skipped a beat as she saw Nye bounding up the stairs. Isobel was cradled in his arms, her eyes drooping and her body slack.

  “I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice slurring slightly as they lingered on the landing. “I just stayed up too late last night.”

  “People don’t collapse after a late night of talking,” he scolded her. “You didn’t even have anything to drink.”

  With a pang of dread, Gabby placed her palm on her friend’s forehead, feeling for the curse markers, hoping her instinct was wrong.

  Immediately, she felt the stirring of the black poison, and her expression fell. Her gaze met the vampire’s and a look passed between them. They didn’t have to say it. Isobel’s curse was beginning to flare, which meant…

  “I’m going to set you down in the study,” Nye murmured to Isobel, his lips brushing against the top of her head while his gaze never left Gabby.

  Carrying her back into the room, he gently placed her into his favorite armchair and turned to Gabby.

  “Why now?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Why so soon?”

  “Her power must be growing again,” Gabby muttered, sifting through her grimoire. She hadn’t completed the spell, but she had no choice. She’d have to wing it.

  “Great,” Isobel said with a moan as she sank further into the chair. “So I’m going to be wraith toast again? That’s what this is, right?”

  Gabby glanced at her friend but didn’t confirm. How could she tell her friend that after all they’d done—after all Nye had sacrificed—it had all been for nothing.

  Isobel seemed to get it without verbal confirmation and rolled her eyes. “Nice knowing you.”

  “Don’t say that,” Nye scolded her.

  Gabby rubbed her eyes and declared, “Don’t worry just yet. I have a plan.”

  “You do?” was Nye’s reply. He didn’t sound convinced. “Where was this plan the first time?”

  “I didn’t have enough time then,” she exclaimed, her temper rising. “I thought I did now. We had no immediate leads on the wraiths, so I put my energy into finding a cure for the curse.”

  Nye raised his eyebrows. “But you said there was no cure… Anyway, Eleanor lifted the curse. It should be gone.” His fist slammed down onto the surface of the desk with a bang. “It should be gone!”

  “It’s not,” Isobel declared behind them. “It never went away.”

  Nye turned to face her, his expression softening. “But… How do you know?”

  Isobel glanced at Gabby and shrugged. “You didn’t have to tell me. I could feel it these past few days. I’ve been tired, and no amount of sleep was helping. I thought it was stress, so I stupidly ignored it. I should have said something.”

  Gabby nodded gravely, causing Nye’s anger to rise further.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” he asked, seething. “All this time, you knew it could come back.”

  “Nye, leave her alone,” Isobel said, her voice beginning to slur.

  “I knew, but there was no point worrying you just yet. I’m surprised just as much as you are.”

  The spy flung his hands into the air. “Great! Just…great.”

  “I have a plan,” Gabby went on. “I went to see a contact last night who gave me the means to help. I haven’t had time to finish the spell, but I’m positive I know how to make it work.”

  “What contact?” Nye demanded. “A witch who knows how to cast a curse is no friend of ours, Gabby.”

  “I doubt a little old lady would dare cross me. Not after the conversation we had.”

  Gloria had been nothing but willing to help after she’d explained the ways of the world. Black, white, gray. There was no clear-cut good or evil. Not anymore. Besides, all she had to do was let slip to her good friend—Aya, the Witch Hunter—that there was a witch out there selling curses for a profit, and Gloria’s power would be no more. The poor dear was well over the eighty-eight years she claimed and was hanging onto life by a thread. The moment her power was gone was the moment she ceased to be. She wouldn’t even know what it was like to live without her earth magic. Long story short, Gabby trusted that Gloria had given her the goods.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Nye all but yelled. “You’re putting Isobel’s life in the hands of some little old lady’s hearsay?”

  “A little old earth witch with a very specific talent, I might add. Besides, we knew Eleanor would come back,” she snapped, shoving him out of the way. “It was never a matter of if. Only when.”

  “Nye…”

  They glanced at Isobel, who had managed to push herself up and out of the armchair. She laid her hand on Nye’s shoulder, leaning against him for support. Gabby could see the exhaustion in her friend’s eyes growing, and it was alarming how quickly the change was coming on. She didn’t know what it meant, but it wasn’t anything good.

  “If we don’t let Gabby try, then it’s only a matter of time,” Izzy said, taking Nye’s hand. “Either way, Eleanor is coming, and worrying about me is not going to help you face her.”

  He turned, cupping her face in his hands. “Isobel…”

  “We knew this might happen,” she reasoned with him. “I’ve known Gabby a long time. I trust her.”

  Gabby fidgeted, suddenly embarrassed to be witnessing such a tender moment between her friends. Her heart ached with memories of Regulus and their short time together, and she turned to retrieve her grimoire from the floor. She’d had a similar moment with him when he was dying, taking his mind back to his childhood home in the Italian hills to ease his passing. Unlike now, there’d been no hope of saving the Roman from his fate.

  Tears stung her eyes as she flipped through the pages and pages of spells and research she’d scribed and found the one she’d been working on to halt the spread of Eleanor’s degenerative curse. In the state it was, it could barely be called a doodle, let alone a spell to save her friend.
She’d have to feel her way through it.

  “What do we need to do?” Nye asked over her shoulder, signaling Izzy had convinced the vampire to let her help.

  “There isn’t a cure, that much I found out for sure, but there’s something that can possibly halt the effects. It’s like a sunlight spell,” she muttered.

  Nye closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to rein in his temper. “Can’t it be transformed into a web?”

  Gabby shook her head. “Perhaps, but not yet. No one I know of has even created a talisman to halt a curse, let alone a web. Right now, I need something to spell. Something that can be worn.”

  “Jewelry then,” Nye said. “What kind?”

  “A ring, a necklace… Something with a gemstone. Any kind will do, but it has to be genuine.”

  Nye glanced at Isobel, who had leaned back against the desk while they argued about her welfare. Her skin had begun to dull, taking on a rather alarming shade of ash. The first time Eleanor had cast the curse on her, it had taken hold quickly, draining her to the point of utter exhaustion within twenty-four hours. No doubt, the same thing would happen again. If the spell weren’t cast now, then Isobel would be bedridden by the end of the day.

  “I don’t have anything,” Isobel said with a moan. “I never wear jewelry.”

  “I don’t have anything on hand, but…” Gabby turned on her heel and began to rummage on bookshelves where there were various nooks and crannies filled with various crystals and herbs.

  Many of the trinkets had been left behind by Regulus, treasures he’d collected from witches over the millennia and items he’d procured himself. Gemstones and crystals could be imbued with a variety of charms and wards, their energy reverberating in harmony with the earth. The ones she found hidden here were small, ranging from the size of a quarter to that of a nickel, and had long since lost their charge to time. None of them were set anyway.

  “What about a jeweler?” came Isobel’s voice. “Surely…”

  “I said genuine,” she replied, fossicking through another shelf. “I won’t trust the rocks from a random store on this. One little flaw twisted through the stone the wrong way could make things infinity more difficult than it has to be.”